


Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 1

by mixedwithintellect



Series: Saint Nicholas Verse [11]
Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, friends to angst, tbh always angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Harry and Y/N don't talk but do, and there's nail polish





	Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 1

He was sat out front, on one of the plasticy black chairs with handles that rounded on the sides. His arms were resting against those, his back slouched as he looked at his phone. His right foot bounced as he waited. A newsboy cap covered the majority of his curls, only a sparse few peeking out, and Y/N could see the ends of his sunglasses over his ears. He looked completely ordinary, another boy waiting outside a coffee shop for his friend, dimples poking against his cheeks as he smiled at something on his phone.

He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves ending at his elbow, which did little to hide the cluster of tattoos running along his forearm. He had gone with normal jeans this time, foregoing the skinny style (Y/N had texted him for a proper month with articles expressing health concerns for men who wore too tight a fit) with his pair of Vans. Overall, a normal dude enjoying life, it seemed, yet Y/N wondered how no one had stopped by the glow that almost surrounded him, or if they were simply pretending not to see.

The streets were humming with the general commotion of a Saturday morning in LA. Tourists gathered around various street corners that had been captured by cameras so long ago, and business-people, flustered as ever, passed them in the nooks and crannies of empty space. No one took notice that one of the most famous people at that time sat a few feet away, with no security detail or even a remote attempt at hiding himself.

And Harry was looking equally as unimpressed with the situation as the pedestrians were, that he was Harry  _motherfucking_  Styles in front of local business Myrtle’s Coffee. Not that Harry ever found himself to be a big deal (when he wasn’t on stage soaking up praise, anyway) but it was still a smidge unnerving for Y/N to see him in person.

The majority of their friendship had been formed over text and phone call. So, when Y/N saw Harry, it was via fan photos, pap shots, or the occasional blurry FaceTime, as he donned a green face mask and black nose strip. Seeing him in person made her stop in her tracks for a second, reminding herself that this was  _Harry_ , not Harry Styles, but one of her best friends, and that was all. He could be both, surely, but the  _Harry Styles_  title held more expectation than the ordinary man could provide daily, so it was important to Y/N that she not get swept away by his celebrity status.

Harry had told Y/N that he thought disguises made everything more obvious, like he was shrouded with a layer of suspicion in addition to the heavy-set jumper/coat/sunglasses/hat combination. That if he were to stroll up in street clothing, and make no apologies for his fame, everything still had the potential of being calm. She had agreed, especially since the LA population rarely had their attention held by anything that seemed ordinary. Even the tourists’ eyes didn’t stop over him, they skimmed by as they walked back towards their bus.

She broke out in a warm smile as she walked closer, her hand reaching out to steady her purse from thumping against her side, because he was really  _here_  and he was dressed comfortably, which also meant he was  _Harry_  now and not the Harry Styles that he had become out on stage, all sparkly and shiny. 

In the back of her mind, Y/N could recall the night in his kitchen, all that time ago, when Harry had explained his take on himself. His eyes had been so unsure, looking back at her as if worried he had rambled too much, and the awkward hesitation between them was very much prevalent back then, before it had the chance to grow into such a great friendship. It was only now that Y/N could appreciate how honest Harry had been from the start, understanding now that he typically wasn’t so open to a stranger. It just made the night more meaningful to her, in retrospect.

They had come so far since then, pushing past awkward silences to realizing that they could both work together like that, with quiet lulls in-between stupid jokes and deep conversation. Sure, their friendship had almost veered off into dangerous territory, but they had rightened themselves out.

After her movie night, when Harry hadn’t responded to her text and Nick plotted to set Harry up with Marie, Y/N had felt that horrendous seed of regret take root in the pit of her stomach. Like she had done something wrong, like she had lost a dear friend and everything had become awkward and ugly. Exhaustion had taken her away from staring at her phone screen, and the next morning didn’t feel any better.

Thankfully, things did improve eventually. That following night, Harry texted Y/N the name of the wine, with a “ _sorry love, got distracted. Have fun getting drunk off $90 wine_ ” and she had sent back a “ _fuck off, that’s way too much_ ” text, and just like that, everything was fine. They spent the next few weeks hanging out as friends, getting to know one another in the setting of clubs, more movie nights, and various other outings.

She had heard, via Nick, that Harry thought Marie was really cute, and had promised that he would take her out on a date soon. Y/N had been a bit heartbroken, held onto her sorrow for a few days, before accepting that she had simply let her feelings attach themselves to an imaginary moment. Which was fine, and over time, she was able to view the situation realistically and move on. Harry was a charming guy, and their personalities clicked well, but they hadn’t known each other well enough for her to dive into puppy-love.

The memories faded and then Spencer came into Y/N’s life. It soon became easier than ever to forget how gentle Harry’s lips were, how good he smelled, how his eyes would darken a shade and a half after he broke away from a kiss, etc. With Spencer in the picture, things were easier when it came to Harry. Especially since Y/N genuinely liked Spencer,  _really_  was into him. And in the giddy haze of Spencer’s rumbling laugh and his one-dimple, she soon let go of the fantasy that had been Harry Styles.

Spencer didn’t mind that Y/N was going to see Harry in public that morning, even acknowledged that there was a chance his girlfriend would be papped with another man, and that rumors would generate. He understood that Y/N was best friends with Nick, and that came with the opportunity to meet a lot of celebrities. Spencer just thought that was cool, and the conversation had ended there. A breath of relief for Y/N, since she hated the look of jealousy on people, and wouldn’t give up a friendship for anyone, even a boyfriend.

Spencer had just asked Y/N to try and get Justin Timberlake’s autograph if they crossed paths, which she swore she would. He had waved her off that morning from his perch on the couch, with a muffled, “Tell Haz I liked the fruit song, it’s a vibe” as he continued munching on his cereal.

There was nothing complicated about Spencer, everything was clear and he said pretty much exactly what he felt. That sense of clarity had made the decision to say  _yes_  when he asked her out, and  _of course_  when he asked if they could be official, so easy for Y/N. She hadn’t realized people could be so straight forward, it was really something else.

“Hey, stranger,” Y/N slid into the chair next to Harry, walking around his shoulder as she spoke. Harry first turned to the right, before whipping around to look to the left, before realizing it was her. He seemed a bit startled, but he broke out into a large smile, turning off his phone and shifting up to slide it into his back pocket.

Harry leaned over to give her a one-armed hug, mumbling an “Almost gave me a heart attack, love” to which she laughed against his neck, hugging him back before settling down into the seat. 

They took a few seconds to look at each other, perhaps equally acknowledging that it was a bit weird to see each other in person, that they were usually only hearing the other’s voice or reading texts, not noticing the freckles scattered on the other’s skin, or how their eyes had a fleck of gold in them. Smiles lingered on their lips, small laughs bubbling up the longer the silence lasted, but neither of them could move to speak.

“Did you order yet?” she finally asked, gesturing with a vague hand towards the coffee shop’s door, and Harry shook his head.

“Didn’t want to order yeh the wrong thing. Is it still dark roast, two sugars?” and a hint of a smirk grew on his lips, as if he weren’t sure that Y/N would remember what he was alluding to.

She did, though, scrunching up her face at Harry in disapproval as she stood up from her seat. He followed, his smirk growing wider as he slipped past her to hold open the front door.

Harry had a long history of buying every meal that he, Nick, and Y/N had together. It was meant neither romantically nor as a flashy show of his generosity, but had started when Harry invited the pair to a new restaurant in the area. It had been a very nice place, the type with a dress code and someone outside to check people’s dress, and so Y/N wasn’t entirely sure why she was surprised, but the prices almost made her cry.

“A House Salad, for $ _32_?” she had whisper-stressed to Nick over the side of the small menu, when Harry had gone to the restroom. Nick took a double-take at the list as well, his mouth gaping with similar disbelief, before leaning forward to quickly find the nearest exit. The pair of them had dashed plenty of times on other friends, when the LA crowd got to be too bougie for even Nicholas, but this time was unfortunately not one of those. Harry was already on his way back, so the two of them decided to stay. Maybe not pay their rent for the month, but stay.

Somehow, Nick had alerted Harry to their concerns. Y/N wasn’t sure entirely how, but when Harry casually began to explain that the dinner would be his treat, Nick was suddenly focused purely on his nail-beds, missing Y/N’s questioning glance over.

Y/N had her suspicions confirmed later that week, when Harry offered to pay for her overly-priced coffee and she snapped, asking him if he was trying to get punched. It had been quite out of the blue, if Harry’s shocked face was anything to go by, and his stutter of, “Uh, no? I-I-I just thought tha-it would be nice to-uh...”

She was disgruntled by him spending of money on her, as if she couldn’t afford a $18 burrito or a $12 smoothie every now and again. Sure, the prices were inflated beyond what the restaurant owners needed for a profit, but it was also LA and Y/N had a sturdy job, thanks very much. She could make it work. After all, she wasn’t at the dinner for the food, she was there for Harry and his company.

He had still insisted on paying when they were in a group, but it had been an on going battle between the two of them to pay for Y/N’s food when they were alone. It had been interrupted when Harry left for tour, and even Y/N was a bit surprised he had remembered.

“My order’s still the same,” she acknowledged with a grunt, moving to the side to let some people slip by as Harry held open the door. 

The shop wasn’t crowded, but definitely had a cluster of usuals around the bar and against the cloth couches. A bookcase of local poetry and photography magazines was against the dark green wall on the right, as the counter and chalk menu greeted the two on the left. Potted plants adorned the space around them as light acoustic music played overhead.

“But I’m paying for my own, thanks. Got that promotion,” she grinned, and Harry reached out to mess up her hair, grinning as she squealed and ducked away.

“Congratulations, Y/N! Knew yeh’d get it, didn’t I say tha’?” he teased, and with their comfortable silence, they both turned to glance over the menu. It was more for formality’s sake, since their orders were firm in their mind, but the cashier was busy wiping down the counter. So, they took those few seconds to feign interest in the chalky variety of LA coffees. Finally, the cashier smiled gratefully and nodded forward.

“I can take you right here, if you’re ready.”

“I’ll take a dark roast, two sugars,” Y/N stepped up to the counter, smiling kindly at the woman, who nodded and began writing on the recyclable cup. Harry hummed behind Y/N as she held out a handful of bills, clearly a bit peeved that she wouldn’t let him pay. At that, however, Y/N dug through her wallet again and held out another bill.

“I’ll also take whatever this guy wants,” she gestured behind her, ignoring the shocked “ _No yeh won’t_ ” as the woman giggled, turning to Harry with another cup in her hand.

“What can I get for you today, sir?”

Grumpily, Harry mumbled out his order, which was identical to Y/N’s without the sugars, and glared at Y/N as the woman set out on making the drinks. It was mostly playful, but Y/N remembered how she had been ranting to Harry about her rent two weeks ago, and figured he was still worried about her finances. Not that it was any of his business.

“If I can’t treat yeh, then yeh can’t treat me,” he said decidedly, as the pair of them made their way over to the pick-up counter. A stack of books littered the area around the straws and cup sleeves, a miniature library of  _take a book, leave a book_  that consisted mostly of local authors attempting to get their name out there. Y/N picked up one at random, skimming over the back as she blatantly ignored Harry, who was still looking at her, waiting for a response.

“ _Fine_ , fine. We each pay for our own now on, yeah?” she rolled her eyes as Harry nodded, satisfied.

She missed how his eyes stayed on her as she reached forward to accept her drink, flashing a smile at the barista. And how he blushed when she groaned after her first sip, her eyes flashing up to the ceiling as if thanking God for coffee. And she missed how he smiled a bit at that, a tiny grin with his eyes unfocused on her, his mind stuck on a night two months ago, when things had just seemed simpler.

“Now,  _what_  should we go do?”

Her words broke him out of his reverie, and Harry hurriedly moved to pick up his drink from the counter, snapping himself back to the present. He took a drink from his cup too quickly, trying to fill some time before he gave Y/N an answer, but managed to burn his tongue in the process. Y/N gave him a sympathetic look as he twisted his mouth in slight pain, as the two of them headed back towards the door, moving past LA hipsters and coffee experts along the way.

“I was thinkin’ that we go and get Nick’s Christmas presents? His party’s soon. It’d be a fun time to give them to him.” Harry explained, and Y/N nodded quickly as she practically inhaled more coffee. They seem to be synced up in the motions of their day, with even their steps synchronized.

“I found a London artist that I think he’d like,” she began, pausing to check the street before crossing, “Name’s Tom Cox, he’s a painter. Offered to send a piece out for Nick’s place here.”

Harry pursed his lips, nodding a bit before confessing, “I was just gonna get him a nice dog bed, ‘f I’m honest. Pig and Blob keep him up late nowadays, thought he could use it.”

“Okay, so we’ll hit the pet store out on Lakewood and then on to the studio?” Y/N asked, reaching in her back pocket to check her phone. It was still fairly early in the morning, but she felt confident that most stores would be open, even the more lax LA ones with owners who didn’t believe in store hours.

“Sounds good,” Harry murmured, thinking over the map of the city in his head, before noticing her attention was caught by something on her phone. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she mumbled, her thumb moving across the screen as she typed. She took a sip of her coffee with her other hand before she explained, “Spencer didn’t know where the paper towels were.”

They fell quiet as they made their way back to Harry’s car (Y/N gave up driving responsibilities when she could, and Harry had control issues about others driving him places, so it worked).

Harry was unsure of how to approach the topic of Spencer, because he had yet to know the full story. Nick just snorted when he brought Spencer up, with that type of look that read  _I don’t know what she’s doing, but she’s happy, so…_

“Things goin’ well?” he finally spoke up, glancing over at Y/N as she slid her phone back into her purse. She tilted her head at him, clearly not within the same train of thought, so he clarified with a, “With Spencer, I mean.”

“Oh!” And wasn’t it something, how her eyes seemed to sparkle, that type of sappy grin on her face that made Harry’s stomach loop and his smile tighten. “Yeah, things are going great. He’s been so nice to me ‘n stuff.”

“How did...how did yeh two get together?” the question came out somewhat as a lump, although Harry didn’t exactly know why. They both side-stepped a tumble of broken Christmas lights on the sidewalk as they neared his car, his hand going into his pocket to tap his keys.

“Oh, it’s  _hilarious_ ,” Y/N began, and Harry made a small grunt that meant  _sure-it-is_.

“You know how my office is down the street from a bicycle shop?” Harry shook his head and Y/N huffed, waving her hand to signal that it didn’t really matter and it  _was_  down the street from a bicycle shop, so that was that. 

Harry’s car beeped off in the distance and her eyes flew to it, a giggle bursting through her lips as it tended to do, when she spotted his insanely expensive and vintage cars. Harry found himself staring at her and quickly looked away, dodging a bump in the sidewalk almost too late. She didn’t notice, though, already in the midst of her story.

“About a month ago, this random guy runs into my office, flowers in one hand, a card in the other, demanding that I give him another chance. I’m just  _shocked_ , right, because I don’t know this guy, I don’t know how he made it passed security or anything. And when he takes a proper look around, he realizes that I’m  _not_  his ex-girlfriend. But, H, when he blushes, it makes the tip of his nose go a bit pink. It’s one of the first things I remember about him, it’s  _adorable._ Anyway, Spencer starts apologizing profusely. Even gives me the flowers. Turns out, his ex owns the bicycle shop and he was gonna try to stop by, try to win her back.”

She and Harry were settled in the car by this point, Y/N speaking animatedly with her hands to gesture where she and Spencer were located in the general whisk of the air, as she settled her cup of coffee in the cup holder and managed to get her seat belt on.

Harry had been nodding a little, but at that point raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“How’d he  _not_  realize the juicing company wasn’t a bicycle shop?”

“He got the 2 and the 5 mixed up in the address, happens to the best of us. Anyway, he felt really bad about busting into my office. Offered to buy me some lunch, and I didn’t want to be drinking cayenne pepper for a meal again, so I said yes...and here we are, a month later.”

Harry wasn’t sure where to begin with that, or how to process the information, just nodded some more and looked out at the dashboard. His fingers drummed on the wheel as the car started up, some rock song coming through the speakers, which helped his shoulders settle considerably, the stress that had tightened his face loosening somewhat. Y/N was back on her phone again, but finished more quickly this time, tossing it into her purse and reaching out to lower the music a bit.

“How’s Marie?”

“Hm?”

He started working on getting the car out of the parallel spot, twisting around to look behind him and putting his hand on the back of Y/N’s seat. To be fair, he hadn’t paid attention to her question and only registered she had said something when he caught her staring at him.

“Marie? The girl you’ve been seeing?”

“Oh. Yeah, she’s been lovely. Haven’t gotten to see her much, though, with all the travel ‘n whatnot.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes carefully trained on the car in front of them. She felt  _sure_  that one of these days, Harry would completely smash another vehicle to pieces with his somewhat reckless driving, but each time he managed to get out of spots without harming anything. Truly a Christmas miracle.

With a brief cheer as Harry swerved out of the lot, congratulating him on another successful ‘pull-out’ (and a giggle insinuating other, dirtier connotations of the word), the pair of them left the awkward conversation behind, opting to turn up the music and sing along to the parts they knew.

As they shopped and drove around through horrible traffic, the pair rotated through Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, before hopping onto a more modern station for Fifth Harmony, Sam Smith, and cranking up the radio as loud as it could go for Niall Horan.

Soon, Harry’s backseat had a large bag with a special-made dog bed (and a cluster of dog toys Harry felt Nick would appreciate, all made organically of course) and Y/N had a small delivery slip in her palm, with a promise from Cox himself that the painting would be delivered two days before Nick’s party. Enough time to figure out where to hang it before the guests arrived, she figured. It was a beautiful painting of Old Compton Street at night, with purples and blues swirled against lively yellows and reds. Harry had agreed it was a nice gift, and Y/N caught his eyes lingering on it even as they were walking out.

Y/N had a brief moment while in the art gallery. With Harry standing next to her, his fingers gently reaching out to touch her elbow to get her attention, pointing out some art piece he wanted her to see, wanted her opinion of. She just had a moment, was really all she could say.

It was hard to describe. Sort of like she finally felt what air tasted like, sort of like the world made more sense in a flash of light. And it was because of Harry’s searching eyes into the art, how his eyebrows would slope the tiniest bit as he tried to focus. It was a second, how she was looking at the side of his face and suddenly felt imaginary ice running down her spine. With a shiver, she had turned back towards the paintings, and the moment had been gone.

It didn’t really have anything to do with her, it was just the side of Harry’s face, so Y/N wasn’t sure why she was so affected. At the end of the day, it was likely that it was the fact that she hadn’t seen Harry much since his tour began. 

Those small details were a bit lost on her, like the way he would rub his nose twice when he got distracted. Or how his smile was typically more lop-sided when he was with friends, and his eyes would look for Y/N’s smile before he properly started giggling. Or how he would wait a second after the salesperson stopped talking, as if to make sure they were truly finished, before he began negotiating prices for Y/N (she was notoriously bad at it, and he had said he wasn’t going to watch a robbery take place, so he would do what he could.)

The moment was brief, and then it was over.

They were back in the car, windows rolled down as a jazz song played out on the radio. Y/N had an arm out of the car, her fingers dangling against the sides as her face was partially stuck out. The wind felt nice against the heat of the sun, and her large-framed sunglasses kept her from having to squint too much. With a grunted sigh, Y/N turned to Harry.

“Why can’t we just have a Christmas here in LA? With snow and  _actual_  winter weather?”

Harry had on his sunglasses too, although he was keeping his eyes on the road, and only tilted his head towards Y/N to indicate he was listening, against the music and the beat of the wind. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ve got enough snow in London, love, don’t need it here.”

“ _OH_ ,” Y/N gasped, clapping her hands together and swiveling to look more directly at Harry, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that  _you_  were perfectly taken care of. I guess all  _my_  snow needs are just – whoosh – gone and solved, because you’ve got  _snow in London_.”

Harry nodded, playing along with the face-value of her words as if they were genuine fact, and Y/N smirked, shaking her head.

“You’re such bullshit, Harry Styles.”

Giggles bursted from his lips as he was able to inch the car forward, incredibly close to their exit yet far enough that he couldn’t pass by the other cars. They held their breath collectively, until the two of them were going comfortably over 10 mph and were coasting along the road towards Harry’s place. It was normal for her to end up at Harry’s, or Nick’s, or any friend’s place after spending the day together, so she texted Spencer an update, letting him know she wouldn’t be back for lunch.  

His flat smelled the same, as Y/N crossed the threshold and set her purse down on a purple-clothed chair by the door. She had only visited his LA apartment a handful of times since they had become friends, mostly because Harry wasn’t known to hold a lot of parties in his own home. He said it was because cleaning up always took so long, and he would be more likely to get it all done if he were at a venue of some sort, or if he had co-hosted with another friend at their house.

It smelled, somehow, like a scent Y/N had begun associating with Harry since the second week of their friendship. It had a depth to it, like the air had steeped in her lungs and made the home seem more earthy. There were elements of cinnamon, Y/N could tell that much, but the rest was a conglomeration of various spices and something that reminded her of men.

She chose to keep these thoughts to herself, as Harry kicked off his shoes, holding onto the doorframe to his laundry-room for support.

“Tea?” he offered, once his shoes finally came all of the way off, and he had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“Peppermint, if you’ve got it.”

With a quick nod, Harry headed towards the kitchen, not bothering to flick on any lights because his windows had let in so much sun. It was another warm morning, bright and cheerful, and Y/N could tell Harry had a special spring in his step because of it.

Y/N began her walk over to the kitchen, stopping on the way to look over his shelf of photos. The same one that she had seen the first time she was over, as Harry explained he liked to put up pictures of the small moments, the special times in his life with family and friends. There was a new one she hadn’t noticed, tucked behind the one of Nick eating a burger.

It was of Harry and her, done in a selfie-style with Harry’s out-stretched arm along the edge of the shot.

She remembered that night. They were sat out on his balcony, waiting for Nick to bring over the Indian food. All three of them had just gathered back after a night clubbing, and it was one of the rare times that the Crash Pad was Harry’s apartment. 

Y/N only barely remembered how she had begged Harry for something to wear, insisting that she wanted to take her bra off, but her shirt would then  _really_  not leave much to the imagination. She remembered how, earlier that night, she had insisted that she’d be the one to stay sober, but the night had ended with Harry taking care of her. And how warm that had made her feel, like she was wrapped in a dozen cozy blankets next to a fire.

Harry had sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he looked away towards the glass patio door, before back at Y/N, and amused smile on his face.

“I’ve got a sweatshirt yeh can borrow., but I want ‘t back before I leave,” was all he had said, because he was set to take off the next week and was still sorting through his packing list. Y/N had nodded, holding out her pinky, which Harry tucked his against, curling them up against one another as he got up. He kept his bashful smile to himself as he walked back inside.

So, in the photo, she was wearing Harry’s sweatshirt. One of his merch ones; she could see the faint outline of his name in the crease. In the pic, Y/N had her arms around Harry’s neck, cheeks smushed together as they both smiled widely at the camera.

Their eyes were a bit unfocused, obviously still feeling the effects of the night out, but Y/N clearly remembered how she wanted to kiss his cheek as the photo was taken. She had thought it would be funny, but right before she had moved, Harry had taken the photo and then was waiting for it to show up on the white rectangle. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask for another picture, she had simply cuddled further up against his body and asked him to tell her fairy tales.

“Do you take it with milk or sugar?” Harry called out from the kitchen, and Y/N was brought back to the present, realizing she had picked up the photo to get a better look at it. Her fingertips had curled against the edge of the photo, her thumb moving across the textured picture.

“Neither,” she replied, before setting it back on the shelf. Her eyes quickly scanned over the rest of the photos, noting to herself that there were no other new ones. With a smug sort of grin, Y/N realized that meant that she had made the shelf, and Marie hadn’t.

Her stomach flipped. Similar to how it had the previous night, when she was lost in her feelings about Harry, all throughout Spencer’s TV show and her nightly routine. 

Y/N wondered why her mind did this to her. Why random thoughts would form, puncturing through the reality of herself that she was perfectly fine pretending was her actual self. She didn’t need to see Marie as ‘competition’, because 1) it was wrong for women to put each other down and also 2) it was never a competition to begin with. Harry liked Marie, Y/N liked Spencer, Harry was seeing Marie, and Y/N was dating Spencer. There was nothing inherently wrong with any of that.

She was fine with Marie, Y/N reckoned, because Marie seemed like the type of woman who had her life together. Granted, Y/N knew absolutely nothing about Marie except for her existence on this planet, but if Harry liked her – well,  _fuck_ , Y/N could learn to like her, too.

“So, you said it’s going well with Marie?” Y/N found the question leaving her lips before her mind could catch up, causing her eyes to widen and her lips to shut tightly together as she entered the kitchen. Thankfully, Harry only heard the question and didn’t see her follow-up face, his back turned towards her as he poured the teas into his mugs. She noticed he had black socks on, tiny anklet ones. She smiled.

“Uh, yeah. Here-” he turned around, holding out a steaming cup with two hands carefully, making sure Y/N had a good grip on it before reaching for his own.

“Yeah? Is that all, is there nothing else to say about it?” she couldn’t stop now, because the rock had started moving down the hill and now it was an avalanche. And why there was a rock to begin with, Y/N didn’t know, but she knew the prickly feeling in the back of her throat very well, and found herself taking a too-large sip of tea to compensate.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, his fingers curling around his mug as he leaned back against his counter, watching her.

“Was there somethin’ yeh wanted to know?” His words were slow, as if carefully chosen. Y/N wondered if he was remembering that night in her kitchen, or if he just thought she was being nosy. Most likely (and very hopefully) the latter.

She shrugged, taking extra care not to look in his eyes as she replied, “Just didn’t know how serious it was, she seems like a lovely girl.”

Harry chuckled at that, one hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He leaned off from the counter, glancing towards his kitchen table and looking at Y/N with his head tilted towards the side. She nodded, and he led the way over to the chairs, replying as he walked.

“Yeh and my mum both seem to think that...I dunno, she’s fine-” he set his cup of tea down, pulling one of the chairs back and gesturing for Y/N to sit down in it “-it’s really not tha’ serious. She’s just nice, I guess.”

Y/N sat in the chair, nodding her thanks. She looked down at the swirling steam rising from her cup as she thought his response over. When she glanced up, she saw Harry’s eyes carefully on her face, almost hazy as if he were zoned out, but a thread of concern grounded them, kept him there. And when he noticed she was looking back, he flashed a grin, his eyebrows stopped their furrowing, and he took another sip of tea.

“Hey,” he started, “-as long as you’re here, could yeh paint my nails? Just need some help on my right hand, can’t get it...right,” Harry grinned at his own joke, and despite his sense of humor, Y/N could tell it was meant as an abrupt change of subject.

The kitchen table was small – small to a normal person, even, not a millionaire such as Harry – and Harry had sat right next to her. The wood was a light stain, with darkened knots and lines running along the surface, pink placemats laid down before each seat, and it was on this cloth that Harry put down his hand, showing off his chipped polish.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed softly, putting her mug to the side.

Just as quickly as Y/N felt she had ruined it, the atmosphere between them was nice again.

Harry had never pressured her to say anything before in their friendship, simply took her as she presented herself to be. She had tried to do him the same justice, but had obviously fallen a bit short that morning, with all her questions. She also appreciated how, when she did choose to speak, he would give her  all his attention to what she had to say, even remembering small details later on.

Of course, Harry did that for  _all_  of his friends, so when Y/N was on the journey of Getting Over Styles, Harry (so it spelled GOSH in her head, she felt it was clever) it was crucial to distinguish Harry’s platonic sense of caring from when he had been flirting. The former Y/N knew very well, while the latter still seemed to be indistinguishable from his normal personality.

Frankly, she had only known that he had been flirting when his lips had met hers.

“Alright, love, gonna go get the bottle. Do you want yours done, too?” he offered, rising up to go into his room. Y/N shook her head, letting her smile drop as Harry vanished around the corner.

In a move that was very reflective of the late-night Lifetime films she had found herself watching more and more of recently, Y/N had a mini freak-out at Harry’s table. Mouthing the words “ _what the fuck_ ” at herself and general hand-waving did nothing to ease her nerves, however, which further cemented in her mind that rom-coms were not realistic in the slightest. She had know solution to exactly why she had been acting so weird, or why Harry was putting up with her odd questions.

In reality, she knew her questions weren’t odd. She had asked Nick all the time about his dates for crying out loud, but it seemed simply different when it came to Harry.

Because she never made out with Nick, never ‘forgot’ to bring his clothing back so she could fall asleep in it for one more night, never worried about double-texting him, never had a miniature heart attack when Nick’s mum liked her Instagram photos.

So, it was different. Some questions felt off-limits, which also made them more enticing to ask. Parts of her wanted to catch him off-guard, prove how okay she was with merely being friends, but being  _overly_ -friends. If that made sense, Y/N herself wasn’t entirely sure and often had talked herself into backing off any topic related to dating when it came to Harry, in fear of being too much.

It was just one fucking kiss. One kiss. She clearly needed to get over that fully, or God help her soul.

Sooner than Y/N would’ve hoped, Harry was back. He had been playing with his hair in his room. It was obvious, because his part was different and the curls fell equally against his forehead, a straight part going down the middle for some time before veering off into scattered directions. He seemed younger, softer, when he was just being Harry. A warm pal, with black polish in his hand and a shy look in his eye.

He set the bottle gently on the table, claiming his seat again and laying his hands palms-down upon the pink cloth, waiting patiently for Y/N to start.

It was the first time Y/N ever painted his nails, but it wasn’t really an out-of-the-blue thing for him to ask. They had chatted on the phone plenty of times as Harry retouched his manicure, Y/N listening to him complain about cuticles and how Mitch bought him gel polish that he wasn’t going to use. Because gel made his nails look too shiny, and Harry just wanted it to be more of a matte finish, of course.

“Is this the shade I picked?” Y/N asked, remembering vaguely that he had sent her a list of black polishes, asking for her opinion. Harry furrowed his brow, looking at the bottle as if it would tell him the answer, before nodding slowly.

“Uh, yeah. Yup, think it is.”

“Well, good choice then. It’s the best one, if I picked it.”

The kitchen felt like a church, with a sacred kind of quiet that felt unbreakable as she began painting. It was more quiet than it usually would’ve been, because Harry typically couldn’t stand hearing ‘nothing’ and would opt to have any sort of music filter into his home before he would ever sit in silence.

But Y/N made it ‘quiet’, not silence; it was a more gentle sway of calm, rather than an awkward stilt in conversation. Over time, the two of them had perfected it, established it as their own. Phone calls could mostly be made up of just them breathing, it seemed, and Harry wouldn’t feel robbed in the slightest. They’d talk when they were ready, when they had something to say, he felt.

“So, this promotion…?” Harry began, as Y/N lifted up the brush and ran it along the bottle’s rim, taking off the excess.

She hummed in acknowledgment, reaching her left hand over to the right side of her face to draw back her hair behind her ear, before leaning forward over Harry’s hand. Her fingers steadied his nails, the brush started just below his cuticle.

“You excited?” he prompted, lowering his head a bit to try and catch her eye. She kept focused on his nails, though, moving his pinky a bit to the left in order to get the small strip of nail she missed the first time.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, you know...things have been a bit rough lately,” she admitted as she turned back to the bottle to get some more, and it was true – she had often talked to Harry about the frustrations of her job, because he was so far away and seemed like a good target to rant to, “’But hopefully things’ll get better.”

“Is there anythin’ else yeh’d wanna be doing?” Harry knew that Y/N had other ambitions, but each time they had managed to approach a talent or interest she had, something that could lead her away from how unhappy she was at her current job, Y/N would suddenly draw back into her uncertainty. Claim that she simply didn’t know where to begin, but that she would look into it when she got home.

Y/N sighed, and Harry hoped she would give him something else to work with, this time. Anything he could do to help, really.

“I dunno. I could use networking events to try and find other businesses that need my help, but I just can’t get stuck in some shit corporation again. I can’t even say the word anymore, I just call it the  _J-word_.”

Harry grinned, muttering the word, “Juice”, which made Y/N recoil slightly and shudder.

“See? Can’t stand it. They’ve been completely ruined for me.”

“Think they were ruined by nature, love. Not very good, are they?” and to that, Y/N shook her head in agreement, before almost seeming to remember that she was in charge of their marketing.

“They’re great and you should buy one,” she gave a fake smile and Harry giggled a bit, peeking down at his nails to see the progress. It was both a check and a distraction, because words had been itching at his throat all day long, and he wasn’t sure how to be so honest without a drink or two in him beforehand. It had been a while since he had been in LA, and while many things felt like home, it had also been a bit intimidating to come back and have to catch up on everything his friends had been up to. Even if he and Y/N spoke often, there were obviously things they forgot, or simply didn’t, discuss.

It was easier to ask a cell phone these sorts of questions, not so much to Y/N’s actual face.

They were quiet, again, each grappling with the situation at hand, perhaps both wondering why life had gone the way it had. Why the other had found someone, how someone else had fulfilled the role of Being Enough that they had failed to do themselves. The weird feeling came over them, yet each was entirely convinced that it was solely them who was dealing with that pain. So, awkwardness prevailed in the short length of their eye contact, and Y/N became all too aware of how she was holding Harry’s fingers, painting each nail so carefully to feign that her focus was entirely on them.

“Who’d yeh spend Thanksgiving with? Don’t think I asked before,” Harry began, figuring this was the best segue into the conversation. He had really meant to ask about Spencer, in hopes of getting Y/N to open up more about what he was like.

Harry knew very well that she had spent Thanksgiving with her boyfriend, because Spencer had posted on Instagram and Harry had found it that night, as he was cyber-stalking Y/N’s new love after getting off the phone with her. She hadn’t mentioned much about “Spence”, but the relationship was still new (according to Nick) and Harry could understand why she wouldn’t tell him.

Especially since he never really talked about Marie to her.

Harry might’ve been okay with Spencer under different circumstances; his dislike for the man didn’t stem from the fact that he was Y/N’s, but rather, the nature of the Instagram left a bad taste in Harry’s mouth. It was like being back in school again, with  _those_  types of guys. 

Harry tried not to take his celebrity status for granted, but if there was one thing about being around Hollywood people all the time, it was that he had become used to a more progressive type of person. And it didn’t seem like Spencer was quite  _that_  type of LA person.

The Instagram photo was of a dining table, clearly not Y/N’s, stuffed full with all types of food, and Harry recognized most of the plates as being meat-based. Turkeys, stuffings, meat plates with small bites of cheese next to them, and other dishes with recognizable bits of bacon (when Harry zoomed in, at least, but he felt pretty sure that’s what they were).

But Y/N was a vegetarian.

Of course, Harry wasn’t there to know if Y/N had been okay with it or not, but he couldn’t help but reflect on how much Y/N had liked his cooking. Said he could make tofu taste like anything in the world (although Harry was hesitant about the soy content, did read his articles about tofu, thank you very much)  and Harry knew damn well he could’ve made Y/N a full feast, the size of three of those tables, without even needing to look at a recipe card.

It was more the caption that bothered Harry, because in small black letters Spencer had consciously typed out “Y/N didn’t step into the kitchen but that’s okay, I still like her. #wcw #makemeasandwich”

It hadn’t even been a Wednesday.

“Spencer.” Y/N’s response was short, clipped.

“Are yeh two serious by now?”

“What constitutes being serious?” Y/N bounced back with another question. It felt like one thing to ignore it to herself, to brush over the question with  _I really like him_  and leave it at that, but with Harry - as his eyes bored into hers as she finished the polish on his last pinky – it would be more difficult.

“Yeh only see each other, not dating anyone else, I dunno. Different with everyone.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side, looking over at Harry’s piano against his wall, letting her eyes be distracted briefly from the intensity of the man sitting next to her. It was a smaller piano, with a short bench tucked beneath it, and Y/N wondered if he had written any songs on it yet.

“What do  _you_  consider to be serious?” she asked, and it helped ease the small questions bugging her mind, because maybe along the way she could figure out what she had been to him, at least in the beginning. 

It was something she couldn’t let go of, even after a few months, and although Harry’s questions were fairly normal, and hers in response seemed casual enough, her heart had picked up in speed, a small bit.

She wanted to know if there was even still a thought or two in his mind about her being his, about how he had kissed her and found a sense of summer in the winter, about how they had danced along the line of seduction for weeks before he had left. She wanted to know what that made her to him.

Harry was quiet.

He was conflicted, silently asking with lifted eyebrows if Y/N had wanted him to answer. As if she would back down or something, as if she would suddenly offer a safer question. But, when the question was out there, it was out there – and he had to answer. This wasn’t a Hollywood interview, he couldn’t dodge this one.

Although, the more Y/N thought about it, she realized he rarely avoided questions when it came to them. He almost always gave her a clear answer, sometimes even expanding on it for a couple minutes. They had spoken about love during late nights before, but never what they had experienced together.

“When I ask her out, I suppose.”

“Were we not serious?” Her response was quick, almost as if she had planned it before his response had crossed his lips, yet her eyes widened similarly to his in shock.

She was asking about their feelings and the potential that had collected like a lake at their feet, but one they had never waded into. In that horrible After-Moment, she realized Harry might have only thought of the one kiss and of nothing more, that perhaps it was only a moment for him, before he reached the conclusion that they were better off as friends. One moment of desire overlapped by reality, a memo titled “ _Don’t Go For It_ ” that she had missed.

Harry stared at her. His expression was unreadable. His hands had stilled on the table, despite Y/N having bottled up the rest of the polish. The bottle was next to his tea mug, which was going cold.

Y/N found herself waiting, not interrupting the silence that she almost felt compelled to drown in, waiting for the black hole to form on the floor to suck her in. Because, surely, Harry hadn’t thought much about them. Perhaps he had even forgotten the kiss, and he was trying to remember how they had even approached the concept of ‘serious’. He wasn’t the womanizer the media made him out to be, Y/N knew that very well, but he also just came back from a worldwide tour and it was likely that events before had been fudged a bit in his mind.

“You’re Nick’s friend.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. Not possibly. Because two people who talk every day, at least once, and stay on the phone for 5-6 hours when they call – those people are friends within themselves. Not through others, not because of convenience.

Did Harry not even see her as a friend?

“Is that really all I am?” She didn’t want to sound choked up, but the prickles in her throat had come back at full force, waves of salty regret lumping against her throat, near the back of her tongue. Her eyes had managed to stay dry for the time being, still processing exactly what was going on.

Harry was still staring at her, his mouth slightly open.

He had taken their unspoken ‘thing’ for granted, that they could’ve continued on with not mentioning the almost-kiss, the actual kiss, or any of the other moments where he had felt compelled to do something more. What that something was exactly, he wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t really known Y/N well before he left for tour, and now that he did know her better, he couldn’t remember how he had spent his days without texting her, without seeing their bottle of wine in restaurants and thinking of her, without searching through his luggage for his hat before realizing it was still stuck on her gnome.

Harry supposed she was looking for closure, some words he could say to her so they could properly glaze over that period in their lives. Because she was happy with Spencer, because she had helped to set Harry up with another woman, because she didn’t need someone who didn’t know how to trust someone with everything yet, because Harry had a lot of ‘becauses’ and all those reasons piled up in his mental scale, weighing down the side of Deny Everything.

“No, I mean-” his hand moved up to rake through his curls, but Y/N’s arm shot out, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she looked pointedly at his wet nails. 

He froze, perhaps expecting her to say something, before realizing why she had reached out, and nodded, putting his hand back on the table. With his usual habit taken away, he took to moving restlessly, his eyes flickering against all points of the room and his tongue licking his lips as he thought.

“I mean, yeh and I are friends. I-I wasn’t thinking, that night. The kiss, it was...I just thought...I mean, you  _set me up with Marie_. I don’t, I don’t how I saw you.”

Denying everything was harder than he had thought.

Every word was wracked with confusion, underlying meaning, and dissatisfaction. They were holding back from saying everything on their minds, because their brains were so clouded with overwhelming emotion; there was no way they could muddle through it right then. Harry wasn’t sure how to answer the questions Y/N hadn’t asked, and Y/N wasn’t sure how to interpret Harry’s words that answered nothing.

“Did you see me as...” she trailed off, losing the nerve to speak as the end of the question came nearer.

They both had leaned in slightly at the table during the conversation, their shoulders huddled in a similar manner and their eyes sweeping over the wood on the table, over Harry’s drying nails, coming back to the other’s eyes, before continuing the pattern. Y/N felt less like crying then, as if she had stabilized somewhat, but the mortification of her honesty had begun to creep in. Which had led to her cutting herself off.

“As wha’?” Harry asked. His voice was low, as if they had a reason to be quiet, as if a voice above a whisper would break something more than just their hearts.

“As you see Marie now?”

The thought of that being true would have the potential of breaking Y/N, battering through the dam to let the river crash against the rocks. Harry had seemingly been dismissive of Marie, for whatever reason, and while Y/N acknowledged that all they had genuinely done was kiss once, imagining him being so flippant over their moment with his other friends made her want to crawl under a rock and die.

It felt like more, it had to have meant more.

“I dunno, Y/N,” Harry sighed, his fingers testing the polish and once seeing that it was mostly dry, he ran his fingers through his hair, obviously relieved that he could tug against his roots as a distraction. “I’ve gone on dates with her, y’know? You and I...it was one kiss, love, and you’re Nick’s fri-I mean,  _we’re_  friends.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes stuck on the edge of the table. For a woman who hated the After Moments, she was currently drowning in nothing but that draining feeling of having been vulnerable, with nothing to show for it.

“So, we weren’t anything?”

Harry was thinking she needed closure. He would swear up and down that if he knew how she would react, he would’ve never spoken up. But once the word was out there, all he could do was watch everything unravel before him. The feeling that he  _should_  know what to say, like the lines had been fed to him by his heart moments ago but his lips forgot how to speak. The confusion clung to his chest, sinking claws into his lungs and he wasn’t sure if he could look her in the eye.

But he eventually did, and the word came out.

“No.”

Y/N thought he looked a bit apologetic, as if he were about to say  _sorry love_ , and reach out for her hand, blinking those Bambi eyes at her as he watched her deflate into nothingness.

She kept her eyes on the table, letting out a “hm” through pursed lips. They weren’t really pursed though, just pressed together firmly with her teeth clenched to keep herself from crying at his kitchen table. Because Harry never asked for this, he truly never led her on. It was one kiss and one of the best friendships she had ever had – and she felt like she had properly fucked it up by asking exactly what wasn’t supposed to be spoken.

“Did yeh...think...we had been something?” he asked, low, his heart thudding. 

Like it had the chance to redeem itself, like all of their words could be swept under the rug if she would confess to what he hadn’t. Forgetting, briefly, of Spencer, and Marie, and Nick, and his tour, and everything that had complicated how he saw her thus far. As if, with a brief word, Y/N could change all that and make their lives easy.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” the words came out like a gasp, and her eyes flooded quickly to the brim, yet hovering over the brink. She coughed slightly to cover up her sniffle, her fingers coming together to play with her nails as a distraction. Y/N felt as though she looked rather pathetic, especially since Harry’s eyes had remained dry and he seemed more confused than anything.

“I just don’t think it meant anything, yeah? Just a kiss between friends, could’ve happened to anyone. And now yeh’re with Spencer, so there’s no reason to worry about this, love,” Harry murmured, a hand reaching out to gently graze over her cheek, catching one of the tears that had slipped out.

It had occurred to Y/N that she might’ve been too emotionally connected to Harry while she was dating Spencer. To her credit, though, this idea hadn’t taken full form until Harry’s email the previous night, with the note that he was coming back to town. Things became a lot more real, then.

Phones had a way of distancing people; Y/N was finding it a lot harder to hold back when she was so close to him. When she could smell his cologne again, when she remembered the sweatshirt nights and the morning they woke up, limbs tangled, feeling that light type of happiness that she hadn’t, yet, with Spencer.

It was the question of whether she was giving Spencer enough of a chance, that lingered in her mind. Whether she saw a possibility in Harry Styles and had clung to that, or if she had genuinely developed feelings over events that Harry obviously hadn’t attributed too much value to.

“It didn’t mean anything to you?” she questioned, turning to look at him.

Harry sighed and glanced away, his hand reaching up to cover his eyes as he took a deep breath. It all seemed very clear, at that moment, how adult they both were. It was strange, how Y/N suddenly realized it, that this was a grown man sitting next to her, and she was a grown woman. It made her a bit sadder, that she felt so out of place and childish, confronting this man when she was dating another. 

“Why’re yeh dating Spencer?” Harry turned the question on her, not answering the one she had asked, his face still hidden by his hand so the words came out mumbled. She was unable to tell from where he was coming from with the question, whether it was judgment or an attempt at reflecting the conversation into something more casual.

“I don’t kn-He’s nice. Really nice. And he’s got a good heart, and he listens to me when I talk.”

“Is tha’ all?” and Harry didn’t mean for it to sound rude, he truly didn’t. 

Because overstepping the line was something he had tried to avoid all morning, but the words slipped out and they were  _true._ Harry felt he qualified in those areas, as well, and yet Y/N wasn’t with him. He kissed her, and that night, she set him up with another girl. And, yet, there she was, brought to tears at his kitchen table, asking him questions he didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what she needed to hear, and he would’ve readily told her  _anything_  if he just had an inkling of what she wanted.

“ _No_ , that’s not it. I don’t know-” she sniffed again, her fingers reaching up to pat under her eyes, making sure her mascara hadn’t been too ruined.

“Is he who you want to be with?”

The question was loaded, even if Y/N didn’t see it at first. Harry had lowered his hand, staring at Y/N’s profile as she stared ahead, waiting for her to say the words. He needed to hear them, needed to know.

“Yeah. Of course, I m-mean, I’m dating him, aren’t I?” she stuttered, but it sounded more like a question to herself than anything else, and Harry fell silent. She spoke up again, with a syncopated break in the rhythm of her voice.

“Is there something you don’t like about him, am I missing something?” and if there was a slight tilt of offense to the end of her words, it went completely over Harry’s head.

“I just...he doesn’t seem...to be that  _great_ , ‘f I’m honest.” Harry’s hands fell into his lap, as his elbows rested on his knees, his eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

“You haven’t even met him, how would you know?”

“I’m just saying, I think yeh could do better.”

“ _What_  are you talking about?” Y/N threw her hands in the air, her eyes scrunching together and then glaring at him, “One minute it’s that we weren’t  _anything_ , and now you’re telling me my boyfriend isn’t  _good_  enough?”

Harry seemed to realize that he might’ve spoken incorrectly, flown past the line he had previously feared putting a toe against. His hands went back up to yank through his hair, causing his curls to fall at random angles. He was blinking, as if trying to get the confusion out of his eyes, as his hands went out in front of him, clasping together.

“As a  _friend,_ I’m trying to-”

“Fuckin’  _bullshit_  you’re ‘as a friend’,” Y/N shook her head, shooting a glance at him to say ‘ _don’t be ridiculous’_ , “Just tell me what you fucking  _mean_  for fucking once.”

She paused.

“At least Spencer can actually use his words.”

The thing that surprised Harry the most, was how she stuck with the last sentence. No regret flashed through her eyes, she seemed as confident going into it as she had at the end.

He responded just the same, a cold look on his face as he stared at her.

“At least  _I_  don’t settle for the bare minimum.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Y/N felt her shoulders tighten as she became more defensive; she knew most of her friends didn’t like Spencer, and Y/N herself couldn’t imagine a wedding with him or anything, but he was nice and gave her butterflies, and he was safe to be vulnerable to.

“It means I’m actually doing something with my job. With my life. With who I let in it.” Each word was punctuated, emphasized, his brows set as he scowled at her.

“What, all those cheap supermodels on speed dial? They adding  _meaning_  to your life, Styles?”

The silence was going to kill them both, it felt like.

Harry’s nose flared as he stared at her, an expression she had never seen before set in his eyes. The two of them sat, defenses up and their faces turned down a bit, equally hurt and vexed by the other. Neither of them moved or spoke for a moment, seething with the anger that had built up so quickly.

It was a surprise when Harry shot up, standing up quickly as his chair rattled against the floor. She blinked, jumping at his sudden movements.

His arm pointed towards the door.

“I want yeh  _out_ ,” he paused, taking a long breath through his nose before adding, “I’ll call the fuckin’ cab.”

He stalked out, leaving Y/N reeling with what just happened. Her veins were still thundering with adrenaline, her heart both breaking and pumping like crazy, as a few tears fought their battles and rolled down her cheeks. She felt like she was waiting for him to come back, so they could talk it out. But, equally, she wanted to go. She wanted to leave, she couldn’t look at his face any longer.

Harry didn’t seem to notice that she was crying when he came back into the kitchen, or he simply chose to ignore her wiping the tears away as he spoke on the phone.

It was a horrendous silence between them, stretching out as Harry muttered his thanks into the phone and put it on the table. It wasn’t an angry motion by any stretch of the imagination, but Y/N still jumped again, wincing slightly at how he refused to look at her.

“It’ll be here in five.” was all he said, directed at the table before his hand let go of his phone, before he walked back towards his room.

The door slammed shut.

In the living room, a few of the photographs fell off the shelf.

“Where to, miss?”

It seemed weird, that the sky outside was still so bright and lively. The warmth felt cold on her skin, and her goosebumps seemed to be permanently on her arms for the time being. The Sun felt like a betrayal on her face. Y/N was still piecing together what had gone on, as she walked out of his house and towards the yellow car. She hadn’t reached a conclusion yet, before the driver had asked for her end location.

She gave the cab driver her address, before pausing, and shaking her head.

“Know what? Never mind,” and then she promptly gave over Nick’s address, toying the idea over in her head more and more. She really needed her best friend right now. Nick had always been there for her, they were each other’s #1. Even had those fancy best friend necklaces.

Despite Nick also being friends with Harry, she knew that he would help her. Take care of her, briefly, because she could see the breakdown on the horizon and really didn’t want Spencer to have to deal with her wracking sobs and incoherent moans.

As Y/N texted Nick, quickly inviting herself over (and smiling against the tears when he readily accepted without a single question), she saw the stack of texts between her and Harry. It was near the top, of course, because they texted each other  _constantly_. It had just been another stable part of her daily life, checking every so often to see if Harry had messaged her, from whatever time zone he had been in at the time. 

And now, it turned her stomach to even see his name. It had been so long ago now, it seemed, that she found herself in a group chat with a strange number and Nick. She tapped on his contact info, swallowing against the lump in her throat as the cab driver turned on Despacito on the radio.

‘ _XXX My Ass_ ’ alongside a photo of Harry, a meme she had dug up from 2013.

A few minutes later, Y/N tossed her phone back in her purse without a second glance. She settled back into the taxi cab seat, watching the mansions pass by her window, feeling the bitterness swell against her throat and root in her stomach.

Against her wallet, in the depths of her purse, her phone glowed with the new contact screen.

‘ _XXX My Ass’_ contact has been renamed to  _Harry._

Contact photo removed.


End file.
